Tension gripped the bridge of the attack cruiser
Lepanto. “One minute to drop,” the
astrogation officer announced.
Jupp von Drachau scanned his people. They were poised
like runners in the blocks, awaiting the crack of the
starter’s pistol. They would have to grab an enormous fund of
data in a few brief minutes. Lepanto was coming up to an enemy star. There was no
way of guessing what might be waiting. Detection gear would not
work from hyper unless initial detection had been made in norm. The
cruiser was going in blind.
No one knew the capabilities of the Sangaree detection systems.
Operating from norm, they would not have the same handicap. A force
might be moving toward the drop zone now.
“Thirty seconds.”
“Stand by, Weapons,” von Drachau ordered.
“Button up, people.” He sealed the faceplate of his own
helmet.
One quick drop to get his bearings, then a short arc in to the
fringes of the Sangaree sun . . .
“Five seconds. Four. Three.”
The figures on the bridge hunched forward a centimeter more.
“One. Drop.”
“Screens up.”
“Commander, heavy vessels
bearing . . . ”
“Display active.”
“Three ships bearing . . . ”
“Range to star one point three two
a.u . . . ”
“We have a local inherent velocity
of . . . ”
“Attack missiles
bearing . . . ”
“Bridge. Weapons. Launching two salvos.”
The vessel shuddered and rocked. Von Drachau stared at the
display tank. Six red blips had come to life there. They sped along
projected curves which would bring them within spitting distance of
Lepanto. Tiny ruby pinpoints raced ahead, toward the
cruiser.
“ . . . time to intercept forty-seven
seconds . . . ”
The hyper alarm commenced its hooted warning to the crew.
“Time to hyper one minute,” a voice boomed.
Someone said, “Commander, we’ve located the
planet.”
“Bring me up a visual.”
“Aye, sir.”
Von Drachau’s command screen came to life. For an instant
it displayed a computer graphic of the local solar system. The
schematic yielded to a visual from an external camera. It showed a
white third-crescent. The amplification rose quickly, revealing a
world heavy with clouds and seas. “Looks a lot like Old
Earth,” von Drachau murmured.
“Yes sir.”
“Are you taping?”
“We’re getting everything we can, sir.”
“Twenty seconds to hyper.”
Von Drachau glanced at the display tank. The missile salvos were
driving closer. Weapons Department was not bothering with anything
but defensive fire. Considering the nature of the mission, engaging
a handful of raidships was pointless. “Anything near that
sun?” he asked.
“No sir. We have a lot of activity near and on the
planet.”
That made sense. The Sangaree would be scrambling everything in
fear that Lepanto might be the spearhead of a thrust
against their Homeworld. That was the doom they had dreaded for
centuries.
“Hyper in five seconds. Four.”
Von Drachau did not think these picket ships would jump with
him. They should await the rest of a suspected battle fleet.
“One. Taking.”
The universe shifted. Screens went blank. The display tank, cued
in norm, remained active. Von Drachau stared, willing the Sangaree
raidships to remain where they were.
“One minute to drop.” Astrogation had programed a
very short, slow arc.
Von Drachau reached back into his soul, searching for any wisp
of feeling that might bear on the orders he had to give. He did not
want to do this thing. Every cell of him protested. And
yet . . . And yet he knew too much. He knew the
critical importance of obtaining results. And he had his own
orders.
“Special Weapons Party, stand by.”
His orders would be a formality. The pre-launch program had
begun an hour ago. The only significant command he could give now
would be the abort.
He checked the tank again.
“Damn!” They were coming. Their detection gear was
good. They knew no one else was coming in right away. “Looks
like we knocked over a beehive,” he said. The six raidships
from the drop zone were being joined by a horde quartering in from
the planet.
“Twenty seconds till drop.”
It would be a narrow squeak, making the launch and getting clear
in time. And some of them would chase him all the way
home . . . “Astrogation, program your
next jump for Carson’s.” He did not want to lead the
pursuit too close to the action on The Broken Wings.
“Sir?”
“Pull the cassette and reprogram.” An attack
squadron would be on station near Carson’s. He could scoot in
and cling to its protective skirts.
“Yes sir.”
“Drop.”
“Special Weapons Party, launch when ready.”
There. It was too late to take it back. Too late to keep from
having to live with it the rest of his life.
“Special Weapons launch in three minutes, twelve
seconds,” launch party captain replied.
“What’s the holdup? We’ve got Sangaree
crawling up our backs.”
“Sorry, sir. A coupling jammed.”
“Long range hunter missiles
bearing . . . ”
“Visuals, please,” von Drachau said. His screen came
to life. “Show me the star.”
In a second he was staring at an endless plain of fire. Broad
continental reaches of darkness lay upon it. The star appeared to
be passing through a period of heavy sunspotting. But, as he
remembered it, the Sangaree home star was supposed to be highly
active, with exceptionally intense solar winds.
“Two minutes to special launch.”
Von Drachau checked the display tank. The Sangaree were coming
on in a mob. They were not organized, but there were too many of
them. Lepanto wouldn’t have a prayer in a heads-up
fight.
“Astrogation, how’s your program coming?”
“Five minutes, sir.”
“We don’t have five minutes. Make it a basal arc
that’ll drop us in the neighborhood. Do your fine calculation
during the fly.”
“Yes sir.”
“ . . . to intercept fifty-two
seconds.”
Von Drachau glared at the tank. They would have missiles in
their pockets by launch time. Power weapons would be pounding
Lepanto’s energy screens. “Damn!”
It looked bad.
“Time to launch one minute.”
The bridge watch took on that hunchbacked look of people
anticipating the kiss of the whip. Sixty lousy seconds. That could
make a damned short life. Mayflies lasted longer.
“ . . . to intercept fourteen
seconds.”
That was close. And the next salvo would be closer.
“Astrogation. One millisecond free hyper straight
linear,” von Drachau snapped.
“Sir?”
“Do it!”
The alarm hooted as the ship lurched.
The Ship’s Commander’s screen returned to life. The
Sangaree sun had moved. He could see a horizon line. It had no
curvature.
Weapons Department howled. They had to reprogram.
“So do those boys over there. Special Weapons. Time to
launch.”
“Thirty-two seconds, sir.”
“Missiles bearing two five-niner relative, one two degrees
nadir. Time to intercept two six seconds.”
Von Drachau sighed. That was right on the line.
“Gentlemen, we’re going to make it.”
The bridge watch did not relax. They knew his remark was half
prayer. The tank proclaimed that in its totally unambiguous
display. A saturation barrage was hurtling toward them.
And it was a long, long run back to friendly space.
“Ten seconds to launch.”
And there was the problem of the weapon safely reaching target.
If the Sangaree sniped it, Lepanto would have to try
again. A second pass could get hairy. Lepanto shuddered and lurched. Someone yelled,
“That was too goddamned close!”
“Two. One. Launch. Weapon away.”
The warship lurched again. “One tenth second free hyper
straight linear!” von Drachau ordered. “Detection, lock
on that weapon. I want to know if it makes it.”
The cruiser dodged. Von Drachau shifted attention between
display tank and screen, following the weapon into the sun.
Sangaree missiles had no chance to catch it. Scores of laser and
graser weapons probed for it, caressed it with their deadly
tongues.
“Telemetry. How are its screens holding?”
“Perfectly, sir.” Lepanto rocked. Time was running out.
“She’s in, sir. They can’t stop her now. Her
sun screens are stable.”
“Astrogation, get us out of here.”
“You still want an observation pass, sir?” R & D
had asked them to hang around and study the results.
“The hell with that noise! Get out of here before they
barbecue us.”
The hyper alarm hooted. The ship twisted away into an alternate
dimension. Von Drachau turned to the display tank.
“Some of them are good,” he murmured. “Very
good.”
Four vessels had caught the trail already, and were coming
hard.
“Drive. Run your influence factor to the red
line.”
“Sir!”
“You heard me. You’ll take it over if you have to.
Stand by for it.”
“Yes sir.”
Von Drachau glanced at the sun shape dwindling in the display
tank. The weapon would be sinking toward its heart. The killing
process would begin in a few hours. He turned into himself again,
looking for his feelings. All he found was a big vacancy, an arid
desert of the soul.
He did not think much of Jupp von Drachau just then.
Tension gripped the bridge of the attack cruiser
Lepanto. “One minute to drop,” the
astrogation officer announced.
Jupp von Drachau scanned his people. They were poised
like runners in the blocks, awaiting the crack of the
starter’s pistol. They would have to grab an enormous fund of
data in a few brief minutes. Lepanto was coming up to an enemy star. There was no
way of guessing what might be waiting. Detection gear would not
work from hyper unless initial detection had been made in norm. The
cruiser was going in blind.
No one knew the capabilities of the Sangaree detection systems.
Operating from norm, they would not have the same handicap. A force
might be moving toward the drop zone now.
“Thirty seconds.”
“Stand by, Weapons,” von Drachau ordered.
“Button up, people.” He sealed the faceplate of his own
helmet.
One quick drop to get his bearings, then a short arc in to the
fringes of the Sangaree sun . . .
“Five seconds. Four. Three.”
The figures on the bridge hunched forward a centimeter more.
“One. Drop.”
“Screens up.”
“Commander, heavy vessels
bearing . . . ”
“Display active.”
“Three ships bearing . . . ”
“Range to star one point three two
a.u . . . ”
“We have a local inherent velocity
of . . . ”
“Attack missiles
bearing . . . ”
“Bridge. Weapons. Launching two salvos.”
The vessel shuddered and rocked. Von Drachau stared at the
display tank. Six red blips had come to life there. They sped along
projected curves which would bring them within spitting distance of
Lepanto. Tiny ruby pinpoints raced ahead, toward the
cruiser.
“ . . . time to intercept forty-seven
seconds . . . ”
The hyper alarm commenced its hooted warning to the crew.
“Time to hyper one minute,” a voice boomed.
Someone said, “Commander, we’ve located the
planet.”
“Bring me up a visual.”
“Aye, sir.”
Von Drachau’s command screen came to life. For an instant
it displayed a computer graphic of the local solar system. The
schematic yielded to a visual from an external camera. It showed a
white third-crescent. The amplification rose quickly, revealing a
world heavy with clouds and seas. “Looks a lot like Old
Earth,” von Drachau murmured.
“Yes sir.”
“Are you taping?”
“We’re getting everything we can, sir.”
“Twenty seconds to hyper.”
Von Drachau glanced at the display tank. The missile salvos were
driving closer. Weapons Department was not bothering with anything
but defensive fire. Considering the nature of the mission, engaging
a handful of raidships was pointless. “Anything near that
sun?” he asked.
“No sir. We have a lot of activity near and on the
planet.”
That made sense. The Sangaree would be scrambling everything in
fear that Lepanto might be the spearhead of a thrust
against their Homeworld. That was the doom they had dreaded for
centuries.
“Hyper in five seconds. Four.”
Von Drachau did not think these picket ships would jump with
him. They should await the rest of a suspected battle fleet.
“One. Taking.”
The universe shifted. Screens went blank. The display tank, cued
in norm, remained active. Von Drachau stared, willing the Sangaree
raidships to remain where they were.
“One minute to drop.” Astrogation had programed a
very short, slow arc.
Von Drachau reached back into his soul, searching for any wisp
of feeling that might bear on the orders he had to give. He did not
want to do this thing. Every cell of him protested. And
yet . . . And yet he knew too much. He knew the
critical importance of obtaining results. And he had his own
orders.
“Special Weapons Party, stand by.”
His orders would be a formality. The pre-launch program had
begun an hour ago. The only significant command he could give now
would be the abort.
He checked the tank again.
“Damn!” They were coming. Their detection gear was
good. They knew no one else was coming in right away. “Looks
like we knocked over a beehive,” he said. The six raidships
from the drop zone were being joined by a horde quartering in from
the planet.
“Twenty seconds till drop.”
It would be a narrow squeak, making the launch and getting clear
in time. And some of them would chase him all the way
home . . . “Astrogation, program your
next jump for Carson’s.” He did not want to lead the
pursuit too close to the action on The Broken Wings.
“Sir?”
“Pull the cassette and reprogram.” An attack
squadron would be on station near Carson’s. He could scoot in
and cling to its protective skirts.
“Yes sir.”
“Drop.”
“Special Weapons Party, launch when ready.”
There. It was too late to take it back. Too late to keep from
having to live with it the rest of his life.
“Special Weapons launch in three minutes, twelve
seconds,” launch party captain replied.
“What’s the holdup? We’ve got Sangaree
crawling up our backs.”
“Sorry, sir. A coupling jammed.”
“Long range hunter missiles
bearing . . . ”
“Visuals, please,” von Drachau said. His screen came
to life. “Show me the star.”
In a second he was staring at an endless plain of fire. Broad
continental reaches of darkness lay upon it. The star appeared to
be passing through a period of heavy sunspotting. But, as he
remembered it, the Sangaree home star was supposed to be highly
active, with exceptionally intense solar winds.
“Two minutes to special launch.”
Von Drachau checked the display tank. The Sangaree were coming
on in a mob. They were not organized, but there were too many of
them. Lepanto wouldn’t have a prayer in a heads-up
fight.
“Astrogation, how’s your program coming?”
“Five minutes, sir.”
“We don’t have five minutes. Make it a basal arc
that’ll drop us in the neighborhood. Do your fine calculation
during the fly.”
“Yes sir.”
“ . . . to intercept fifty-two
seconds.”
Von Drachau glared at the tank. They would have missiles in
their pockets by launch time. Power weapons would be pounding
Lepanto’s energy screens. “Damn!”
It looked bad.
“Time to launch one minute.”
The bridge watch took on that hunchbacked look of people
anticipating the kiss of the whip. Sixty lousy seconds. That could
make a damned short life. Mayflies lasted longer.
“ . . . to intercept fourteen
seconds.”
That was close. And the next salvo would be closer.
“Astrogation. One millisecond free hyper straight
linear,” von Drachau snapped.
“Sir?”
“Do it!”
The alarm hooted as the ship lurched.
The Ship’s Commander’s screen returned to life. The
Sangaree sun had moved. He could see a horizon line. It had no
curvature.
Weapons Department howled. They had to reprogram.
“So do those boys over there. Special Weapons. Time to
launch.”
“Thirty-two seconds, sir.”
“Missiles bearing two five-niner relative, one two degrees
nadir. Time to intercept two six seconds.”
Von Drachau sighed. That was right on the line.
“Gentlemen, we’re going to make it.”
The bridge watch did not relax. They knew his remark was half
prayer. The tank proclaimed that in its totally unambiguous
display. A saturation barrage was hurtling toward them.
And it was a long, long run back to friendly space.
“Ten seconds to launch.”
And there was the problem of the weapon safely reaching target.
If the Sangaree sniped it, Lepanto would have to try
again. A second pass could get hairy. Lepanto shuddered and lurched. Someone yelled,
“That was too goddamned close!”
“Two. One. Launch. Weapon away.”
The warship lurched again. “One tenth second free hyper
straight linear!” von Drachau ordered. “Detection, lock
on that weapon. I want to know if it makes it.”
The cruiser dodged. Von Drachau shifted attention between
display tank and screen, following the weapon into the sun.
Sangaree missiles had no chance to catch it. Scores of laser and
graser weapons probed for it, caressed it with their deadly
tongues.
“Telemetry. How are its screens holding?”
“Perfectly, sir.” Lepanto rocked. Time was running out.
“She’s in, sir. They can’t stop her now. Her
sun screens are stable.”
“Astrogation, get us out of here.”
“You still want an observation pass, sir?” R & D
had asked them to hang around and study the results.
“The hell with that noise! Get out of here before they
barbecue us.”
The hyper alarm hooted. The ship twisted away into an alternate
dimension. Von Drachau turned to the display tank.
“Some of them are good,” he murmured. “Very
good.”
Four vessels had caught the trail already, and were coming
hard.
“Drive. Run your influence factor to the red
line.”
“Sir!”
“You heard me. You’ll take it over if you have to.
Stand by for it.”
“Yes sir.”
Von Drachau glanced at the sun shape dwindling in the display
tank. The weapon would be sinking toward its heart. The killing
process would begin in a few hours. He turned into himself again,
looking for his feelings. All he found was a big vacancy, an arid
desert of the soul.
He did not think much of Jupp von Drachau just then.